


A Fine Kettle

by dracoqueen22



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Clayleb Week (Critical Role), Djinni & Genies, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-25 19:35:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21361570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Of all the things Caduceus expected out of his new purchase from the antique store, a djinn appearing in a swirl of steam never even made the list.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 24
Kudos: 197





	1. A Fine Kettle

**Author's Note:**

> For Clayleb Week, Day Six, Alternate Universes

Caduceus Clay had need of a kettle.  
  
Just this morning, his own had come to ruin, the handle breaking off, the insides rusting as if by some magical means. He’d been forced to microwave water for his tea and that won’t do at all.  
  
It couldn’t be just any kettle. Caduceus had no need for the fancy ones they sell in stores nowadays. He appreciated more traditional designs.  
  
He knew he would have to go to an antique store.  
  
It took him a day of scouring all of the local shops, and he was nearing closing time in the sixth shop when he spotted it. Elegant. Metal in definite need of polishing, but images and an unfamiliar language in relief along the sides. It had a wide spout, and the handle was wood.  
  
It called to Caduceus, and he knew with a smile, this was to be his new kettle. It faintly hummed to his fingers as he traced the upraised design.  
  
He got it for a steal.  
  
“Been on the shelf for ages,” the shop’s proprietor told him. “Couldn’t bring myself to be rid of it, but couldn’t seem to sell it either. Glad it’s finally found a home.”  
  
“Does it have a story?” Caduceus asked.  
  
“Oh, everything does, but this one.” The shopkeeper stroked his bushy beard and looked heavenward, contemplating deeply. “It had a story once, but I’ll be damned if I can remember it. Guess it’s up to you to give it a new one.”  
  
Caduceus smiled and thanked the man, and came home with his new kettle. It really was lovely. He couldn’t wait to brew his first cup of tea.  
  
First, however, it needed to be cleaned.  
  
So he scrubbed and polished, taking his time with all of the engravings, until the swirls gleamed back at him. Fire, Caduceus thought, the designs on the metal reminded him of fire. How appropriate for a kettle.  
  
He filled it with water and set it on the stove to boil while he perused his teas, trying to decide what would make for the perfect, first cup. Something to welcome the kettle to his household.  
  
Hmm.  
  
A new mix perhaps.  
  
He pulled down his jars and scooped a little bit of this and that into the strainer. A pinch of apricot, a scoop of hibiscus, some orange peels, a dash of honeysuckle, and a little bit of licorice root for an interesting twist. Yes. That sounded nice.  
  
The kettle whistled.  
  
Caduceus hummed and plucked it off the range. He paused, however, tilting his head. Was it his imagination or had the etchings started to glow? The range wasn’t nearly hot enough to overheat the metal, which was itself too sturdy to catch flame. Perhaps it was a special design, like glow in the dark paint, but of course it wasn’t paint nor glow in the dark, but the association seemed apt enough.  
  
There was no spell of burning. The kettle was safe enough, Caduceus supposed.  
  
He poured the hot water over his tea, steam rising from the cup in lazy swirls that thickened and thickened, until it looked more like smoke than steam. It smelled faintly phosphorus and sulfuric and a bit like volcanic ash.  
  
Caduceus blinked and stepped back, kettle still in hand.  
  
There was now a man in his kitchen. Or, almost a man. He was human in appearance, average in height, fair-skinned, ginger-haired, dressed in simple, if not tattered robes. Flames licked along his bare feet, briefly scorching Caduceus’ kitchen tile before they dispersed.  
  
“Um,” Caduceus said, still holding the kettle which yes, seemed to give off a magical hum now that he thought about it. “Hello?”  
  
The man’s eyes opened -- blue, they were very blue -- and he looked at Caduceus with a sort of quiet resignation. “Hello,” he said, his voice thick. Accented. Caduceus didn’t know enough to place it. “I am Caleb Widogast. I am the djinn of the kettle. I am here to grant you three wishes.”  
  
“Wishes?” Caduceus echoed. “What sort of wishes?” He thought djinns were bound to lamps, not kettles.  
  
“Any wish you might have,” Caleb Widogast said, though his tone was very bland, very uninterested, very sad. “Only, I cannot bring someone back from the dead, make them fall in love with you, and you can’t ask for more wishes.”  
  
Caduceus put down the kettle. “Well, people who are dead should stay dead, if you ask me, and I don’t want anyone who isn’t in love with me in the first place.” He tilted his head. “I barely know what to do with three wishes. I don’t need more.”  
  
Those blue eyes finally looked up at him. “What is your first wish?”  
  
“Hmm.” Caduceus went and fetched another cup while the djinn’s gaze followed him. “I don’t think I have one. I mean, I’m pretty happy as I am. I have a job and a home and friends. I used to need a kettle, but then I found yours, so I’m set.”  
  
It had never occurred to him to _wish_ for things. If there was anything he wanted, he sought to retrieve it on his own, or asked the Wildmother if it was to be his. Caduceus had a rather content life, all things considered.  
  
“I can grant you untold riches. I can make you famous. I can give you a bigger home,” Caleb suggested.  
  
Caduceus returned with a cup and another mix of tea, and poured hot water over it as well. “I don’t want riches, and I really don’t want to be famous, and my home is the perfect size for me.” He put the kettle back on the stove. “Are you thirsty? You look thirsty. Have some tea.”  
  
Caleb Widogast squinted at him, glanced at the cup, then looked at Caduceus again. “Is that your wish?”  
  
“Do I have to wish for it to let you drink some tea?”  
  
“... No.”  
  
“Then I guess it’s not my wish. Have some tea if you want. It’s good. I grew it myself.” Caduceus beamed a smile at the djinn, hoping to put him at ease. He wondered how long Caleb had been trapped in that kettle, waiting to be released, while knowing his freedom would be temporary.  
  
It must have been lonely.  
  
Caleb frowned, but he finally moved, giving the tea a tentative sip. “You grew it?”  
  
“Here in my garden.” Caduceus tilted his head and subtly whispered a few prayers to Melora, relieved when he detected nothing Undead, and when the kettle indeed glowed the fierce blue of something magical.  
  
He wasn’t hallucinating. That was a relief.  
  
“You really have no wish?” Caleb asked.  
  
“Well, I didn’t say that. I just said I don’t have a wish right now,” Caduceus said. “I have everything I need.” He paused and reconsidered. “Well, maybe that’s not exactly true. But the thing I don’t have, is something I need to earn. It wouldn't feel right if it was just given to me.”  
  
Caleb’s shoulders hunched, but he kept sipping at the tea.  
  
“Are you hungry?” Caduceus asked, because he was thin himself, but Caleb looked starved, like he hadn’t had a good meal in centuries.  
  
He rose from his chair. “I’ll cook something,” Caduceus said before Caleb answered. “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t eat meat, but you’ll be amazed what I can do with some mushrooms.”  
  
Caleb shook himself as if he were coming out of a dream. The cup clattered back onto the saucer. “I should be granting you wishes,” he said, eyeing the kettle on the stovetop before chasing after Caduceus. “Please let me do the job, sir.”  
  
“Clay,” Caduceus corrected. “Caduceus Clay is my name. And it’s nice to meet you. Peppers okay?”  
  
“_Ja_, I eat peppers,” Caleb answered, as if on automatic, and blinked at him. “No, no. It doesn’t matter. What would you like to wish for, Mr. Clay?”  
  
Caduceus pulled down a pan and drizzled olive oil liberally along the inside. “Do I have to make a wish?” he asked and gestured to the fridge. “Would you grab the lemon juice, please?”  
  
Caleb blinked, but he obeyed, searching the shelves before producing the bottle. “I… suppose you don’t have to make a wish. I don’t know what happens if you don’t.” He frowned, forehead furrowing into deep lines. “It’s never happened before.”  
  
“There’s a first time for everything,” Caduceus said, and tilted his head, tasting the idiom again. “Which is quite true, isn’t it? Something has to happen once for it to happen again. Isn’t language interesting?”  
  
Caleb stared at him. “You are very odd, Mr. Clay.”  
  
“It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” Caduceus said with a grin. “But if I had to make a wish. Hmmm.” He tapped his bottom lip as he waited for the pan to heat. “What would you ask for, Mr. Caleb?”  
  
The djinn reared back as if Caduceus had struck him. He went ghost-white, and his hands fisted, his gaze shunting away. “That is a cruel question to ask. I am in the business of granting wishes, not making them.”  
  
“Never?” Caduceus asked.  
  
“That is my punishment,” Caleb said. “One I richly deserve. So please, Mr. Clay, do not grant me any kindnesses. Make your wishes so I can go back to my kettle.” Funny enough, he didn’t so much sound like he wanted to go back to the kettle, but that he felt he ought to.  
  
All the more reason not to let him, Caduceus thought. He wasn’t much a fan of leaving people to their loneliness, and he suspected there was more to this story. Curiosity had always been a fault of his, Clarabelle said, and maybe it was a fault now, but Caduceus couldn’t let the mystery lie.  
  
He wanted to know more about the djinn who lived in a kettle, rather than in a lamp, and wore his misery around him like a cloak.  
  
The pan was warm enough, so Caduceus gradually added sliced vegetables to it, stirring in mushrooms, carrots, broccoli, and more.  
  
“I think a simple stir fry will be nice,” Caduceus said with a hum. “You shouldn’t eat anything too heavy if you haven’t eaten in a while. This’ll be a nice way to get you on your feet.”  
  
The djinn made a frustrated sound. “Did you not hear me?”  
  
Caduceus swirled a bit of soy sauce over the vegetables before he covered it with a lid and went in search of his rice cooker. “I think that you are already sorry for whatever it was you did, Mr. Caleb. So there’s nothing wrong with offering you some kindness.”  
  
“I… I am not here for kindness,” Caleb said, and he exhaled loudly, slumping back into his seat. “I am here to grant wishes, but you don’t have any, so I… I don’t know why I am here.”  
  
Caduceus measured water and rice in the appropriate measures, setting up the cooker to make a perfect batch. He could do it the long way, but sometimes, it was nice to not have to.  
  
“You are going to have dinner, and then after, I think I have some cookies for dessert,” Caduceus said, because it seemed the simplest thing to do. “You don’t have to go back in the kettle if you don’t want.”  
  
Blue eyes stared at him, at once bleak and resigned and confused and perhaps far, far in their depths, a bit comforted. It was important to be a good host, Caduceus thought. And if he didn’t have any wishes now, he’d rather help Caleb Widogast be comfortable while he waited.  
  
Caduceus didn’t know much about djinn and wishes and magical kettles. They were far outside his realm of expertise, but Melora seemed to think everything was all right, and Caduceus trusted Her judgment far more than anyone else’s.  
  
“I don’t know what to say,” Caleb said, and he sounded impossibly lost.  
  
Caduceus gave him a smile. “Thank you is a good start,” he said, and brought over another bundle of tea to make a new cup. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Caleb.”  
  
The djinn looked up at him as if he couldn’t believe Caduceus was a real person, his eyes wide, and magic swirling around him anxious eddies. “I… it’s nice to meet you, too, Mr. Clay. Thank you for your hospitality.”  
  
“It’s my pleasure.” Caduceus’ insides flushed with warmth. The company would be nice, and at least Clarabelle couldn’t tell him he was lonely anymore. “More tea?”  
  


***


	2. Full Steam Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caleb Widogast, djinn of the kettle, does not deserve as nice a thing as Caduceus Clay. Or so he thought.

Four seasons.  
  
Caleb Widogast had been out of his kettle for one year, or four seasons as Caduceus Clay counted them.  
  
In that time, he’d learned about the world as it was, as it had changed since he was punished for his sins and trapped in a lifetime of servitude.  
  
It was a world of magic and machine, modern and rustic. It was a strange world, but there was nothing stranger than the firbolg who did not have a wish to make.  
  
Caleb Widogast had clothes now. Nice ones. He had a warm, comfortable bed. He ate home-cooked meals three times a day. He helped Mr. Clay in the shop and in the garden. He did the accounting because Caduceus was not fond of numbers.  
  
Caduceus Clay still had not made a wish.  
  
Caleb Widogast did not mind.  
  
As long as Caduceus did not wish, Caleb did not have to go back into the kettle. The magic, apparently, would not force it.  
  
If this was the only freedom Caleb could have, he would take it. He did not deserve it, but Caduceus encouraged it, so Caleb would obey.  
  
Caduceus made him smile. Caduceus made warm feelings bubble up inside of Caleb, feelings he ought not carry, but he carried nonetheless. Everything about the firbolg was gentle and encouraging and warm.  
  
He didn’t have a wish.  
  
“I could wish for you to be free,” Caduceus said once, two seasons and half a year ago.  
  
Caleb shook his head. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, Mr. Clay,” he said as he kneaded the dough which would become cinnamon rolls for their breakfast. “I cannot grant a wish that works in my favor.”  
  
“Well, that’s a stupid rule. If I want to give my wish away, I should be able to,” Caduceus said with a frown and a glare at the kettle, which had yet to be used since the day Caleb first appeared.  
  
Caduceus worried it might entrap Caleb once more. He went out that evening, while Caleb’s mind had churned on his new circumstances, and bought a different kettle for his tea. Not an antique, but something modern.  
  
Just in case, Caduceus had said.  
  
“I didn’t make the rules,” Caleb said.  
  
“I know, Mr. Caleb. I’m frustrated on your behalf.” Caduceus squeezed Caleb’s shoulder, his hand big and warm and comforting, compared to the icy chill of the kettle, while Caleb waited for the next mortal to free him.  
  
“You should not care about a man like me,” Caleb said as he focused on the dough, the feel of it between and underneath his fingers. It felt productive, far more than thousands upon thousands of wishes, all with terrible outcomes, as if his imprisonment was not punishment enough.  
  
Caduceus, however, smiled down at him before he finished buttering the pan. “But I do, Mr. Caleb,” he said. “You are my friend.”  
  
If Caleb had been able to make his own wishes, he still did not think he would have been capable of asking for Caduceus Clay. And yet, the firbolg was a wish come true.  
  
It was Autumn again. Crisp mornings, chilly evenings, the smell of smoke on the air, falling leaves crunching beneath their shoes, Caduceus wrapped up in colorful scarves, his tail flicking playfully behind him.  
  
He was adorable and perfect, and if Caleb had a wish, he knew what it would be. If he deserved such a thing.  
  
“I’m thinking pumpkin soup tonight,” Caduceus said as his breath occasionally puffed out in front of him in gray billows. His winter hat was a riot of color, with a yarnball bouncing merrily at the top. “It’s perfect for this kind of weather.”  
  
Caleb’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he wanted to take Caduceus’ free hand and pull Caduceus into his arms. He wanted to reach up and pull Caduceus down and press their lips together.  
  
“You still have three wishes,” he blurted out, because he was a man to be punished, not a man searching for a happy ending. “Don’t you want to make them?”  
  
Caduceus tilted his head, one hand burdened by their shopping bags, but the other swinging free. “I have everything I need, Mr. Caleb. That hasn’t changed.”  
  
“Then you should give my kettle to someone else,” Caleb said, and he rushed out the words, because he didn’t actually want Caduceus to give him away, but he knew what he deserved, and it was not a life beside this beautiful being.  
  
Caduceus stopped walking and turned to face Caleb, looking down at him with a face pinched and concerned. “Do you want me to? Would you prefer that?”  
  
“It’s not about what I want,” Caleb said, even though the words caught in his throat and heat banked at the back of his eyes.  
  
Caduceus would give him away. He’d go back into his kettle. There would be no more cinnamon-sweet mornings, or downtime afternoons with tea, or evenings in the kitchen, making their meals, or… or…  
  
Any of it.  
  
Caduceus nodded slowly. “It’s supposed to be about what I want,” he said, as if carefully choosing his words. “But what if what I want is to give you want you want?”  
  
Caleb breathed out, frustrated. “Mr. Clay, you don’t understand--”  
  
He cut off when Caduceus took his hand, gloved fingers tangling with his, dwarfing them, thin though they were.  
  
“My desire, Mr. Caleb, is to see you happy. I would like it if that meant you spending your life with me, but I would understand if it didn’t,” Caduceus said, and it was like a punch to the chest, the earnestness in his eyes taking Caleb’s breath away. “Will you answer me honestly?”  
  
Caleb worked his jaw. His throat felt thick, his tongue heavy and leaden.  
  
“I… would… stay,” he said, forcing the words out, past the guilt trying to lock them down. “If you’d keep me.”  
  
Caduceus smiled at him, and if the sun had cut through the clouds of the dreary day, Caleb imagined it couldn’t shine brighter than the radiance of Caduceus’ happiness.  
  
“Then I will keep your kettle, and keep you, too,” Caduceus said, and he brushed his lips over Caleb’s gloved knuckles, heedless of the fire which flashed briefly over Caleb’s body -- it didn’t burn his clothing, but it charred the leaves beneath his feet.  
  
“Thank you,” Caleb murmured.  
  
Caduceus leaned down, and paused, as if waiting for Caleb’s final answer. So he closed the distance between them, pressing their mouths together in a kiss as sweet as Caduceus’ made-from-scratch cinnamon rolls.  
  
Caduceus hummed a laugh and pressed his forehead to Caleb’s, warmth radiating from him. “Imagine that. I get my wish without having to make one.”  
  
Caleb laughed, too. “You’re just lucky, I suppose.”  
  
“The luckiest firbolg I know,” Caduceus agreed, and kissed him again. There on the street, people passing them and staring, but Caleb didn’t care about the attention.  
  
“Come on. Let’s go home,” Caduceus said, and Caleb tucked his arm into Caduceus’ and thought of home.  
  
Not the cold, tight confines of the kettle. Not the ever-present, consuming dark.  
  
But home.  
  
Warmth streaming through the windows. The smell of tea in the air. Freshly tended gardens. A crackling fireplace. Cinnamon breakfasts and fresh bread lunches and pumpkin stew dinners.  
  
And Caduceus smiling at him.  
  
“_Ja_,” Caleb said. “Let’s go home.”  
  


****

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is greatly welcome and appreciated. I'd love to know what you think!


End file.
